


Sucker Punch

by Black_piano_keys



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Group Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Other, Tentacles, Xeno, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_piano_keys/pseuds/Black_piano_keys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoechlin has been on the receiving end of advice, and other things, from Linden, J.R. and Ian for some time. Now it's Dylan's turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sucker Punch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silkstocking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkstocking/gifts).



> Bless your prompts.

“Hey! There’s my Daddy.” Dylan grinned at Linden, who smiled and slapped Dylan’s knee as he passed. Dylan said things like that all the time. It made sense--Linden cared for and worried over Dylan like a son, and played his father on the show. It was cute.

But Tyler knew what it did to Linden. He had personal, intimate knowledge of what it did. And even without that, he thought he probably could have figured it out by the way Linden’s shoulders squared just a touch and his face tightened, as if he tried to keep his expression neutral. It wasn’t just cute to Linden.

It turned him on.

Tyler had thought about talking to Dylan more than twice. Did he really have no idea? Was he that innocent in ways that never let him consider the possibility? He knew Dylan was far from innocent, but maybe the idea that an older man he’s close to could want him had really never occurred to him.

Tyler looked down at a text and had to read it a few times before it sank in. He was having a hard time not thinking about Linden. And Ian and JR. He’d gone surfing and dirt-biking with them, gone to dinner, for drinks.

Then they’d enjoyed other things. Linden wasn’t the only one who got off on bit of Daddy talk.

He felt his cheeks warm just thinking about that, about how attentive and caring and authoritative they’d all been with him. Career advice, dating advice. Life advice. Then the kissing and petting and fucking. And something that had blown his mind so much he still wondered, every time, if he’d been somehow mentally broken by orgasms and imagined it.

Dylan shifted in his seat next to Tyler, and he slid his hand down between his thighs, adjusting himself. He seemed to think nobody noticed when he did this, because he’d done it in interviews and _on stage at a con_ , for God’s sake. They knew that some fans scrutinized every second of footage, so Dylan obviously thought he was sly and rearranging his junk in secret.

Dylan squirmed a little more, and Tyler realized--he’s hard. _There’s my Daddy._

Tyler laughed.

“What?” Dylan smiled at him, waiting to be let in on the joke.

“Nothing, funny text. Hey, I’m going to dinner at Ian’s tomorrow, Linden and J.R too, and they asked if I thought you’d wanna come. Ian’s at 8?”

“Sure. Now I don’t have to be so jealous of you hanging with them all the time.” Dylan laughed and elbowed him.

“Nope. Not anymore.”

***

When Dylan told Linden he’d see him tomorrow night, Linden’s face lit up. “See ya, Daddy,” he’d said as he left, and managed to keep himself from getting a boner before he reached the car. He loved calling Linden Daddy. _Loved it._

He was just glad Linden didn’t care, and didn’t seem to _know._

He didn’t see Hoechlin’s ride anywhere, and wondered if they were all setting him up for some sort of practical joke. Hoechlin was a happy asshole like that sometimes.

J.R. let him in, a kitchen towel over his shoulder like he’d been cooking.

“Hey, Dylan.” They clasped hands and pulled together for a back-patting hug, the way all of the cast tended to do. “We’ll be eating a little later than planned. I hope you don’t mind. Ian lost track of time, probably staring at the wall for hours trying to think up one of his _profound_ tweets.”

He made air quotes when he said profound and pulled a face.

Dylan snorted. “I wondered if that was how it worked.”

“I heard that,” Ian called from the next room.

Dylan gave Ian and Linden the same greeting as J.R.  “Is Hoech late?”

“Aw, no, he had to cancel.” Linden patted the spot next to him on the couch. “But he said that we should carry on without him.”

“We’ve been looking forwarding to this, Dylan.” J.R. sat on Dylan’s other side and tossed the towel from his shoulder onto the end table.

Ian pulled up an ottoman and sat in front of Dylan, so he was effectively boxed in. “We should have invited you a long time ago. Wanted to, Hoech said we should, and I’m glad we finally did.”

Ian beamed at Dylan, and his eyes-- _shifted_? It started and stopped in a split-second, but in that quick blink the pupil looked like it thinned then expanded, making his whole eye shine black.

Dylan hadn’t even had a drink yet. Must have been a play of the light.

“We’re hoping you’ll poke our . . . brains. Career advice. That kind of thing,” J.R. said.

“I know you guys have a lot to offer.” Dylan looked at all of them, and wondered if the room had gotten warmer. Linden’s and J.R.’s hips pressed against his, and Ian leaned close. “I never want to impose, and it seems like you’re always giving me advice at work . . . .”

“Because we care,” Ian said. The others hummed in agreement. “That doesn’t stop when we leave work.”

“Thanks, man,” Dylan said. “I know. And I’m glad you invited me.” He felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine.

“So am I,” Linden said, putting his hand on Dylan’s thigh. “Because, kid, if you’d called me Daddy like that one more time in front of other people . . . I was going to go _crazy_.”

Dylan’s mouth dropped open when he realized what was happening. “I . . . .”

“Now that I know, well, that’s different. Say it whenever you want.”

“Say it now,” J.R. said, his voice low. And Ian added, “You can say it to him or any of us, if you’d like. I promise, we don’t mind.”

Ian slid forward on his knees so he was up against the couch. J.R. put his hand under Dylan’s shirt, sliding up to his chest, and cupped the back of Dylan’s head with his hand. Linden touched Dylan’s lip with his fingertip. They all smiled.

“You all right, kid?” Linden asked. “You’re gonna catch flies with your mouth open like that.”

“Gonna catching something,” J.R. said, and they all chuckled. Dylan couldn’t answer what with his whole body struggling to supply blood to his boner in record amounts.

“Don’t close it,” Ian said. “That would be a shame.”

“This okay, kid? We’re only offering, I hope you realize. You can say no, and nothing changes as far as we’re concerned. We can even have dinner and talk about auditions or something.”

Dylan found his voice.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice rough. This would cover every Christmas and birthday from now on even if good genes kept him alive until the turn of the century. _Every one_. “I am so okay with this you have no idea . . . _Daddy._ ”

Linden growled and plunged his tongue into Dylan’s mouth. Dylan was so focused on the kiss, something he’d thought about so many times, he barely registered what the men were doing. He felt his pants pulled away and his hands put on Linden’s and J.R.’s cocks, and hands _everywhere_.

J.R. and Linden trapped him between them, pushing him back while pushing his hips forward so that his butt sat on the edge of the cushion. He was close to flat, as close as you could get on a couch like this.

A mouth, Ian’s mouth, slid down his dick, and he shouted in to Linden’s mouth.

“You like that, Dylan?” J.R. sucked at a nipple and pinched it with his teeth, enough to smart. Dylan could only nod, because Linden wouldn’t give up his mouth.

When Linden finally pulled back, panting and licking his lips, he shook his head. “You react like that to a simple blowjob . . . what comes next is going to blow your mind.”

“Did Hoech warn him, you think?” J.R. asked.

“Probably not.” Linden rubbed his hand back and forth over Dylan’s stomach, biting gently at his lips. “He’d have wanted it to be a surprise.”

“A good surprise, Daddy?” Dylan whispered, and thrust into Ian’s mouth, wondering what they were talking about. If it meant they were all going to fuck him at some point, it wouldn’t be a surprise now. He _needed_ that now.

“ _So_ good, boy. Good like you won’t believe.”

Something touched Dylan’s hole, wet and firm, and Dylan flinched. He’d never even been finger-fucked, let alone any of the rest, and hadn’t expect it quite so fast with only such a short build-up. Hands were suddenly everywhere, stroking and petting him, and Ian’s finger, a couple it felt like, pushed again. J.R. and Linden were all over him, whispering and mumbling things against his skin and lips like _easy, you can take it, just let it happen._ He was kissed and caressed and patted while Ian’s fingers pressed inside him, slowly going deeper, swelling and widening . . . .

Dylan whimpered against Linden’s mouth at both the stretch and the pleasure it brought. Both of them cooed at him, _shhh, it’s okay, gonna feel so good_ . . . .

Ian’s fingers felt like they were plumping up inside him. Widening and stretching and fucking him and sliding _so deep_ , and so many hands were everywhere, all over him, _too many hands_.

Dylan pulled away from Linden’s kiss to look down. Ian sucked his cock, his eyes gone black and oily, dozens of thick ropes of flesh coiling out of his back. They slid all over Dylan. All over Linden and J.R. All over . . . .

Dylan squeezed his inner muscles and felt the slide, the squelch, of what was inside him. He arched and hissed as his nipples were sucked, but Linden and J.R. were both kissing the sides of his neck and shoulders, their hands soothing Dylan and pressing him back against the couch.

_I should probably scream, if I had any sense. I mean, Ian is something out of horror movie. Or a niche porno. A horrno._

But instead of screaming, he cried out in pleasure at a particularly righteous suck that pulled at his cock and his nipples at the same time. He realized then that the mouths sucking his nipples weren’t mouths, but suckers on the ends of of two of Ian’s . . . long sex things. _What the fuck were they_? Dylan thought they were like . . . his dick ropes. His back-weiners. His cock sprouts. His . . . he wondered if it would melt his brain to admit it . . . his tentacles.

Dylan laughed, giddy. “Hoechlin, you son of a--”

J.R.’s mouth found his just as Dylan realized that their cocks in his hands had been replaced by tentacles that rippled and undulated, punching through his fists again and again, _fucking_ his fists.

Dylan’s dick suddenly felt cold, Ian’s mouth gone. And then Ian was face to face with him but talking to Linden and J.R. “You know how much more I need, so let me have the first one? I won’t leave you out.”

Both men moaned in pleasure, no protest.

“Hang on,” Ian said with a grin, the black eyes widening a little.

Dylan felt the tentacles wrapping around him, not too tightly, more like a warm, slick embrace. What was in his ass moved in a pistoning motion now, causing a fan of pleasure to spread out in his lower body with each thrust. They wrapped around his dick, cocooning it, and _sucked_. It was like being swallowed by someone who knew what they were doing, with the softest, hottest throat. Maybe that wasn’t a tentacle, he didn’t know, but whatever it was he loved it and wanted to marry it in the most lavish ceremony man and tentacle could muster.

J.R. and Linden writhed on either side of him, vines of flesh around their lower bodies, their cocks, in a slightly less immersive experience than Dylan was getting.

His whole body was wrapped in warm, soft, slick _goodness_. Every spot on or in him that could bring pleasure was caressed, tweaked or stroked. And then Ian’s mouth covered his and he felt the slide of something hot and wet suckling at his tongue, and Dylan did finally scream.

He exploded in a way bad porn told men they were supposed to but they never really did. It hit in his lower body and radiated down and up and out, and it just kept coming as everything sucked and squeezed and manipulated and manhandled.

He shouted as spasms were pulled from him, one after another, and became aware of J.R. and Linden crying out in the same way. But the pleasure didn’t stop, it kept coming and building and easing and building again until it skirted the edge of pain in its intensity. He begged a muffled _stop, wait,_ and then--

“ _Please_ , Daddy,” Dylan shouted, the words muffled by Ian’s mouth. But Ian heard and understood, because the pressure eased and he was allowed to come down. Ian rocked him in his bizarre cradle of tentacles, and all three soothed him with kisses and caresses, and before Dylan realized he was drifting off, he woke to the smell of tomato sauce, spices and fresh bread.

“Lasagna,” J.R. whispered in his ear, giving the lobe a quick bite.

“But there’s chicken for you, in case,” Linden said, combing his fingers through Dylan’s hair.

Ian stood at the end of the bed with crossed arms, his eyes normal, an obscenely low V-neck in place. All seemed right with the world.

Dylan looked down at himself. He’d been put in baggy pajama pants, no shirt, and was apparently now in Ian’s bed.

“Oh my god, you’re a tentacle monster.”

Ian threw his head back and laughed.

“Seriously, dude, how .  . . what . . . ?”

“Are you complaining?” he asked, still grinning at Dylan.

“Am I going to have little tentacle babies? Did you plant an egg in me? If not, I have absolutely no complaints.”

“No eggs. It’s only hereditary. In my case it skipped a generation, but dear old grandaddy? Looked like that guy from _Pirates of the Caribbean._ ” He held his hand up to his chin and wiggled his fingers.

“Davy Jones,” J.R. supplied.

Ian snapped his fingers. “Yes, thank you. Can n _ever_ remember that.”

Dylan blinked then smirked. “Wow. You’re not entirely human. That explains so much.”

“Careful,” Ian said, wagging his finger. “I can give a spanking like nobody’s business.”

Linden chimed in. “Promises, promises. Come on, let’s eat. You’re going to need the energy, kid.”

The idea that there would more of what he’d had . . . how could he eat while anticipating that? He got up and padded to the kitchen behind J.R., with Linden and Ian behind him. “Hoechlin didn’t really have to cancel, did he?”

“Nope. He set you up.”

Dylan put his hand over his heart and fluttered his eyes. “And I love him for it. Though a warning would not have been out of line here.”

Linden wrapped his arms around Dylan from behind and nuzzled the side of his neck. “He’s coming over next Saturday. And we’d like it if you’d come, too. I think having both of you here together . . . I think that’ll be good.”

“Me, too,” Dylan whispered.

Linden bit Dylan’s neck lightly. “Say it.”

“Daddy.”

“Mmm, I like that. You’re a good boy. I knew you would be.” Linden seemed content to keep nibbling on Dylan’s neck. But Ian clicked his fork on his glass.

“We’ve plenty of time for that later. Let’s all sit down to eat now.” Ian put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “How do you want to do this? Do you want a chair?”

Dylan looked around at the men’s faces and shook his head, not understanding. “Yeah? I mean, what else would I do? Stand?”

Ian smiled affectionately and kissed the corner of Dylan’s mouth. “Oh, you are new to this aren’t you? Ask me nicely, _properly_ like a good boy, and I’ll explain it.”

“Can you please explain? Daddy?” A thrill shot through Dylan. God, he loved chicken but he really, really did not want to eat food right now. Tentacle sex was an actual thing! How could anybody eat after just discovering that?

“You could stand, if you wanted. Or sit on someone’s lap. But Hoechlin usually takes turns kneeling next to each of us, and we feed him.”

“With our fingers,” Linden said. “Because Daddies take care of their boys.” Linden touched Dylan’s bottom lip with his fingertip, and a coil of flesh, _a dickacle_ , Dylan thought giddily, _an octocock_ slid from under Ian’s shirt to slide along Dylan’s jaw.

A little sunburst of _oh jesus yes I want_ flared inside him. He was fucking _starving_. Dylan dropped to his knees.

  
  
  
  



End file.
